


Late Nights

by DameFrostyFace



Series: The Green Man and the Gwynbleidd [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Jealousy, Love/Hate, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameFrostyFace/pseuds/DameFrostyFace
Summary: Iorveth is feeling frustrated and decides to work a bit of it off. This scene will eventually appear in The Green Man and the Gwynbleidd, but was written for a challenge.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Iorveth
Series: The Green Man and the Gwynbleidd [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709218
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Late Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the April Fanfic Challenge on r/FanFiction. Challenge is to write a fic based on a lyric from a song I like without mentioning the lyric in the fic itself. It will be in the end comments.

Patrols had started in Novigrad seeking nonhumans. They burned, they destroyed, they broke everything in their path. Iorveth spent most of his days and nights smuggling people who were willing to trust him out of the city when he could. His base of operations, the Rosemary & Thyme, wasn't ideal. It was loud, full of people, and worst of all, Dandelion ran it. Iorveth was grateful that the dh'oine was allowing his burlesque house to funnel refugees, and for that service, Iorveth would try to avoid murdering the bard as best he could.  
It had been a stressful week. He'd barely managed to get the last group into the countryside and on their way to Vergen and Dol Blathanna, sustaining some moderate injuries. So far, Iorveth had managed to keep the Redanian guards from discovering he was in the city, but the calls kept getting closer. A one-eyed elf was a one-eyed elf to these stupid dh'oine, but if they captured him, there was no guarantee nobody would know him.  
Being a living legend had its drawbacks.  
He curled up in the soft featherbed Dandelion had so graciously granted to him. No matter how comfortable his surroundings were, the empty side of the bed mocked him. Geralt wasn't known for his fidelity, and since setting off to Sekllige, Iorveth had heard no word.  
In Skellige, there were strong, pretty men and women who might catch the witcher's eye. Worse, there was Yennifer of Vengeberg with her violet eyes and apparent claim on his witcher's soul.  
Whenever Geralt talked, or rather, didn't talk about his shared history with Yennifer, Iorveth felt the crushing weight of a past he did not have with the witcher. Burning envy wracked his soul, and he screamed long and loud into a pillow. He hated the witcher for leaving him behind. Iorveth's hand crept below his waistband and into his trousers. His hand wrapped tightly around his cock, hips thrusting wildly and without a real, comfortable rhythm. He was too angry and frustrated to lean back and set a steady pace; this was angry and existed only to work out some of his confused rage and adoration.  
Iorveth cursed Geralt's name in ancient tongues, grinding himself against the bed. He bunched the pillow up in his free hand. Fabric strained and ripping in his sturdy grip- He hated and loved in equal measure, thinking of his witcher in the throws of passion with someone else.  
Next time they were together, Iorveth would mark Geralt. Oh yes, he'd make sure no-one ever mistook Geralt for someone else's ever again. He'd bite him, scratch him. He'd leave his signature all over his witcher's soul, and Geralt would never think of another creature ever again.  
Every muscle tensed at once as his body screamed for release and a pause in this punishment. To the cold night air and the darkness inside of him, Iorveth swore that the bond between himself and the witcher would strangle the other man if he so much as looked at someone else. The image of Iorveth ramming into Geralt would supersede all other desires. As these thoughts raged within him, the pillow barely muffled his screams as he spent all over his hand and trousers. Between his gnashing teeth and clawing free-hand, the pillow finally gave up the ghost, spewing feathers as Iorveth spilled himself.  
Iorveth collapsed in on himself, panting and sticky. Some dark and horrible part of him meant every word he'd said, and Iorveth wasn't sure he wanted to tell it to be quiet. Tomorrow was going to be another long day, and the day after that, and the day after that. He wasn't sure how much more of this waiting he could take.  
If that bitch sorceress took the witcher away from him, there would be hell to pay. He'd claim the witcher over her corpse if need be.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyric:  
> I don't have the right  
> To ask where you go at night  
> But the waves hit my head  
> To think someone's in your bed.  
> \--Ghengis Khan by Miike Snow


End file.
